Pass the Potatoes, Please
by chizry
Summary: With nothing better to do on Thanksgiving, a food fight seems like a perfect idea. Sandle: a fluffy and little cheesy fic.


**Title: **Pass the Potatoes, Please  
**Rating: **PG-13  
**Disclaimer:** It's Thanksgiving…I'm thankful that CBS and Alliance Atlantis has created CSI, therefore they're not mine.  
**A/N:** Fluffy like whipped cream on a slice of pumpkin pie.

-------------------------------------------------------

For once in a long while, Las Vegas was quiet and slow. Thanksgiving was a time for thanks, and right now the graveyard shift at the lab was thankful for the holiday.

So, here they were, in the break room, having a makeshift dinner from the nearby grocery. Only the two youngest members were at the lab, the others getting off work. Catherine was having dinner with Lindsay, Nick with his family down in Texas, and Warrick with his newly-wed wife. Grissom had flat-out refused to spend one minute away from his precious roaches, and neither CSI was too keen on eating with bugs.

"Mmm. Canned cranberry sauce and made-from-powder mashed potatoes." The messy haired CSI grinned boyishly as he and Sara ate off of paper plates.

Sara smiled, taking a bite of her tofu turkey. "For somebody like you, this is actually pretty good."

He glared, narrowing his eyes playfully. "What is that supposed to mean?"

Holding up her fork full of peas, she gestured towards the food. "Can't really imagine you of all people cooking dinner, let alone not burning the lab down like you did the last time."

Greg flushed, remembering when he put pancake batter in the microwave because he thought it needed to be warm. It had completely bubbled over, staining the inside of the microwave an odd shade of yellow and nearly catching the counter on fire when the batter got into the electrical wiring.

"That wasn't my fault! Archie said it would work," he protested weakly. It might have worked, if only he didn't set it up for ten minutes instead of one…

She shook her head, smirking. "Good thing Ecklie had the day off." She frowned. "Is it me or are the mashed potatoes sticking to the fork?" The brunette held her fork upside, watching as the white blob slowly fell to the plate.

Sara was so engrossed in the food that she didn't even notice the attack of the corn coming from Greg's spoon until it hit her square in the shoulder. "Greg!" She vainly tried to get the kernels that went down her shirt.

However, she didn't strike back, and he frowned. It was supposed to a food fight, for goodness' sakes!

So he tried the carrots, and almost poked her in the eye. He was actually aiming for her ear, but hey.

It worked.

In retaliation, she threw a mound of sour cream at him, striking him square on the nose. "Yuck!" He grabbed the nearest napkin, upsetting their cups of cheap cranberry juice. "I hate sour cream!" Using the spoon as a launcher, he set forth some gravy and watched as it landed on her head with a resounding splat.

"Oh, now you've done it, Sanders!"

Seeing her holding the plastic container of melted butter, he ran.

-------------------------------------------------------

Looking into the break room, Grissom dropped his clipboard with a loud clatter. It looked like somebody left the blender open and turned it on: mashed potatoes on the seats, whipped cream on the ceiling, corn floating in the coffee pot. His eyes turned to the mass of two sticky bodies on the floor, both laughing loudly.

"Sara! Ow! You're sitting on my ribs!" The supervisor heard Greg plea for mercy. Grissom had had enough. The two were lucky Ecklie wasn't even in Vegas at that moment.

"Greg! Sara!" He barked roughly, catching the attention of the two.

It took a moment, but when the couple realized they were caught, they stopped their movements. Getting off of her partner, Sara was visibly embarrassed. Greg, on the other hand, just grinned cheekily.

"What the hell went on in here?" Running a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair, Grissom said each word slowly.

Obviously too mortified to answer, Sara just stood there, turning a color that envied the cranberry sauce.

"Uh…food fight, Grissom," Greg explained, realizing that his words sounded lame. He lifted up his broken plastic spoon guiltily.

Grissom shook his head, and gestured towards the mess. "Clean up. Now." He ordered, stomping off angrily back towards his office, and nearly slammed the door.

"Good going, Greg. You've got him mad now." Sara accused, trying to get the pumpkin pie out of her hair with little success.

"Hey, you were in it too, Sara. Don't try to blame it all on me!" Grabbing a paper towel (thankfully the roll went unscathed by their war), he began to scrub off the mess on the windows.

Sara stopped her movement, and stood glaring at him. "If you didn't start it, I wouldn't have had to dump butter down your boxers," she retorted.

He pulled a face. "Great. I need a shower."

"We both do."

"You offering?"

Elbowing him hard in the ribs, the brunette scoffed. "In your dreams, Sanders." She finished up cleaning up the table, and pointed at the ceiling. "You're getting the potatoes." They were stuck on the hanging light, slowly slipping but still stuck onto the hot metal surface.

Greg sighed, and glanced over at her. She had actually cleaned herself up pretty good…

"You missed a spot," he pointed to a smudge of whipped cream on her face.

Feeling it out with her fingertips, she gave him a smile. "Thanks." She reached over for a napkin to wipe it off.

She barely had time to even grab it before she felt a warm tongue lick it up. Her jaw dropped in shock as Greg leaned back smugly, the fluffy white substance having transferred onto his lips.

They sat there, staring at each other. At that moment, the former labrat regretted his actions and at any given second he was sure that she was going to kick his butt to the moon.

What he didn't expect was her to jerk his turkey-patterned tie and pull his head towards hers.

Her tongue was intent on lapping up the sweet confection on his lips, her mouth soft and a little moist. It had been a few seconds at least and she hadn't let go, even though she had by now surely gotten it all off of him. Thinking that he might as well do it now and never, he wrapped one arm around her waist and the other around her neck and pressed her closer to him.

Amazingly, she responded, clenching fistfuls of his shirt in her hand, while trading slow kisses with him.

Greg and Sara hardly noticed Grissom as he walked back into the room. The older man widened his eyes in shock, not with a little jealousy burning in them.

He coughed, trying to catch the attention of the couple that was now gradually heading towards…

Oh god.

Grissom, not amused at the sight before him, scowled and rapped hard against the doorframe. He ran through his hand irritably through his salt and pepper hair.

"Are you two finished cleaning up the room?" He spoke carefully, glancing up at the ceiling.

"Uh…no. Almost done, Grissom." Sara said, recovering from the surprise much faster than her comrade.

The bespectacled man nodded, not trusting himself to speak for a few seconds. "Finish up. And go home," he added somewhat dejectedly. He left them in the middle of the floor, rushing furiously to his office.

"He's not happy." Greg commented, unable to keep a goofy grin off his face.

"Give thanks that we're not fired," Sara muttered. "We're lucky that he didn't suspend us at the least."

Her friend shrugged. "I'd rather give my thanks to somebody else. That was one hell of a kiss." He gave a cheeky smirk.

"Mmm." Letting him pull her in closer to him, she grinned. "I'd be more thankful if you gave me more." They leaned in again, kissing with more fervor and passion, ignoring everything else for a few minutes.

Until…

"GREG! I told you to take care of the potatoes!"


End file.
